DEATH OF AN OLD WOMAN

DEATH OF AN OLD WOMAN

The old warrior woman is dead, That great granddaughter of Macedonian warriors, No trunk, no gun carriage, No pitched sound of a trumpet, No sign to mark her death.

Seeming like an object found in the night, From the spirited Asian horses, Repentant is the old woman soldier, Flag bearer of the defeated flag.

She who gave blessing to the born, She who gave birth to a proud gender, She who lost her own born, She who rushed after us, the defeated, She who wore her covenant to Tashkent, Died without tears.

She died with a curse in her mouth, With fear from fire, Something in her soul was burning.

Dying she asked me for my hand, Pleading with her faded eyes, “Grandson!” she said to me, “You have a legacy…, The responsibility is now yours, To return home and see...

There is but one thing that constantly worries me, Maybe the fireplace…, Maybe the icon lamp…, Maybe the candle…. Is still burning…”